


The Same Sun

by kyatt



Series: Counting Moons [2]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Cheating, Infidelity, Love Triangles, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, The sex is between n/l, background lamen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29357280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyatt/pseuds/kyatt
Summary: Past the third time it happened, Nikandros has stopped questioning about the sex. Not the thing itself, but with whom he does it. He has stopped questioning why and how the Prince of Vere now always ends up panting beneath him every time they meet.
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince), Damen/Nikandros (Captive Prince), Laurent/Nikandros (Captive Prince)
Series: Counting Moons [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2156505
Comments: 21
Kudos: 56





	The Same Sun

**Author's Note:**

> This is part 2 of the fic where Damen loved Laurent his whole life and had a political marriage with the Patran princess, but should work fine as a standalone with that premise in mind. If you're just here for n/l by all means go ahead.

This is all a mistake, and Nikandros acknowledges that.

Summer in Delpha is unrelenting. The walls of the kyros’ chambers, white as magnolia petals, only help cool things down a little. His skin is always coated in a thin layer of sweat, which dries when slow breeze slips through periodically and reappears the second the air stills. The still air carries a mixed scent of things present in the rooms: burnt herb, fragrance oils and sex.

Past the third time it happened, Nikandros has stopped questioning about the sex. Not the thing itself, but with whom he does it. He has stopped questioning why and how the Prince of Vere now always ends up panting beneath him every time they meet. 

They're perched on the edge of the bed, the side opposite to where the pillows are. Laurent is on his back with his legs wide apart and the front of Nikandros' thighs are tucked in where the mattress meets the low marble base. Laurent's very fair skin is glistening with sweat. Except for the parts splashed with a spilling rush of pink, it seems to blend in harmoniously with the white objects in these rooms, particularly the sheets. Slowly, Nikandros' eyes rake over his body, knowing that those scheming eyes are unable to judge him behind the white strap tied around his head now. 

He was the one who suggested it, claiming it'd make it easier for Laurent to apply his imagination. "You know, I really don't mind you looking, in any particular way" was Laurent's indifferent response, which was also not a refusal. Nikandros looks up at Laurent's damp, flushed and blind-folded face and feels an odd sense of security from not being watched as he does this. After all, it doesn't have to be him, does it?

It started around the time the King's second child was born. On a rare occasion when Damen was busy being a dutiful husband, Nikandros found himself alone with Laurent of Vere in these same rooms. It was late, and the conversation had long shifted from the remains of the meeting in the afternoon to drunken trivial rambling. Each of them probably had at different points realized how bizarre it was. They had known each other for a long time, even before Damen and Laurent had become a thing, but they weren't exactly friends. They both knew their relationship was only held together by one common thing they shared. 

By the time he realized it, they'd already been talking about him for hours. Stupid things they each had done with Damen as boys, things he still did that annoyed them, his coronation, the wedding, his son, the child who was about to be born. Towards the end he noticed Laurent was growing quieter. He had never seen Laurent drink so much, if he'd ever seen him drink at all. Even after Akielos had gained a new queen, he'd never suspected whether Damen and Laurent had been over. There'd never been the need to ask. They were two metals forged into the same blade, always inseparable in spirit, even in the presence of a third person. 

"So this is how you felt, when you lost him to me," after another cup, Laurent said with an expression like he was just joking, but he couldn't even laugh about it himself. An awful feeling gathered in Nikandros' throat, like he suddenly couldn't breathe properly. He really just needed to stop Laurent from talking right then. Instead, he found that Laurent's lips felt as soft as they seemed, and that under that dumb tapestry-like jacket he was wearing, his skin was burning. 

Laurent makes a rhythmic nasal sound as Nikandros drives his hips forward repeatedly in a controlled, self-aware manner. He leans in to swipe his tongue over Laurent's sternum. His skin is so warm and plush, like salted milk. He drags his lips to where his left nipple is and tickles it a few times with the pointed tip of his tongue before covering it with his whole mouth. Because Laurent can't predict Nikandros' actions very well like this, his voice changes for a second when Nikandros begins sucking on it. 

It's not difficult to guess what Laurent likes when you've known Damen your whole life. 

It's no secret that there had been countless boys and girls around Damen and his close circle since their early teens. When you're best friends with the Crown Prince, no one can tell you what not to do. There were the many times when Nikandros and Damen dallied with their own palace slaves in the same rooms after a revelry or in some rainy afternoon. There were the few times when they might have shared the same girls all with similar-sounding names in that village. He can still picture with ease the way Damen was with his lovers, having seen so much of it at proximity. How he would smile and look them in the eye, telling them the things he liked about them. How he would kiss them, softly at first, then tempestuously passionate. It was ridiculous. He was a prince, and those were people whose names he wouldn't even remember the next morning.

Then there was that one time in the training arena. They had an exceptionally good bout of wrestling that left them both gasping for air afterwards in the ring. Once they'd calmed down a little, they realized that now that his muscles were relaxed, all of Damen's blood had rushed to his cock. Before Nikandros could register what he saw and begin laughing, Damen already got above him, his arms beside Nikandros' shoulders. He said while peering down at him, "What should we do about this, Nikandros?" He usually enjoyed Damen's dominance, gratified to have his recognition and attention. It's like the light and warmth of the sun, a feeling so nice you never know when to stop wanting more. Until you get too close and it starts to burn. Damen was laughing, falling back on his back again. "It was a joke, my friend," he said, standing up to search for a towel. Nikandros stayed where he was for much longer, till his heart would finally quit pounding like it was going to fail.

The nobles of their generation seem to all remember that year when Laurent transformed from just another easily neglected foreign child royalty to "that beautiful one from Vere". Nikandros remembers it as the year Damen changed into an entirely different person. 

Methodically, while maintaining a steady motion of his lower body, he smooths both palms along the sides of Laurent's body. He keeps stroking him like that, slowly and barely perceptibly, and observes the minute stages of Laurent coming undone. Whenever he does that, Laurent's voice takes a turn to go up as Nikandros' cock thrusts in, waves of slight tremors flowing outward through his legs from where they're connected. 

"I can go with you, have a few drinks and talk to people, but I'm not bringing anyone back with me tonight," Damen would begin to say things like this. "You don't understand, Nikandros. This thing between me and Laurent." "He's the only one I want." "I've realized that sometimes all you have to do is apply the lightest, slowest touch. Imagine your fingers are feathers," said Damen once, demonstrating with the back of his own hand, then added drolly, "The way Laurent says my name when I do this. I'll just come in seconds."

Nikandros kisses Laurent on his mouth as he concentrates his mind on conjuring up a time he watched how Damen kissed. He kissed that brunette with full breasts who worked in the kitchen after they'd just turned thirteen, feeling her up beneath the linen apron. Even before they had any experience, Damen had always seemed to have a natural sense of how these things worked. Nikandros continues to lick into Laurent's mouth, suck on his lower lip, emulating the picture he retrieves in his head of Damen kissing the stable boy, that older gladiator and his favorite slave. Suddenly, he realizes he has never seen Damen kiss Laurent. It's as if the act itself is the most private secret shared only between them, its purity tarnished by exposure to the eyes of others. Is he even surprised? The best is always reserved for Laurent. Laurent is moaning into his mouth, his breath shallowing.

"Say his name," he pulls away to let Laurent breathe, then whispers in his ear. Laurent's breath catches in a way like his thought is getting interrupted. Nikandros sucks on his neck softly, just enough to make the wet sounds audible for him. His fingers drag across the back of his thigh, close to the hollow of the knee where he is most sensitive. The ring of muscle clenches around his cock instantly, making Nikandros groan. It feels good. He can never deny this, even when part of him understands that it's due to the knowledge that Damen has also been in here, yearns to be in here. In some peculiar and unspeakable way, he's never felt closer to Damen than now. He tells Laurent again, "Say it."

He decides next time he should also tie up his hands, as he watches Laurent lift the white cloth from his eyes and toss it to the other side of the bed. Laurent regards him with a slightly lofty expression, his eyes flashing blue like the part of the sea nearest to the shore. "I don't need to pretend I'm fucking Damen. I'll have him tomorrow," says Laurent, the disdain and the rosy hue on his face fusing to form a weirdly tantalizing picture. "Do it how you'll do it, or get off me," Laurent commands as he reaches out to touch Nikandros' face with the back of his hand, the coldness of a ring stinging him. He has this smug look on his face that Nikandros loathes, one that he knows Nikandros loathes. Nikandros thinks of how Damen has always described Laurent: beautiful, sweet and loyal. He only agrees with him on one of these things. 

Grudgingly, he removes his cock from Laurent and starts to rearrange their bodies. Laurent's thighs are spread open and pressed onto the bed, exposing him in a way either as one does to the most intimate lover or as a whore does to a patron. Nikandros is only seeing the supposed extravagant view in peripheral vision because Laurent's gaze on him is unmovable. He imagines an inordinate amount of men would kill just to be stared at by Laurent like this. Nikandros only feels naked and defenceless, revealed before those watchful eyes. Eventually he disengages and moves on with the matter at hand. Because Laurent is flexible, his bottom is only slightly lifted in the air in this position. Nikandros replaces the tip of his cock to the pinked dip around Laurent's entrance. He taps on it with the weight of the head a few times and looks up at Laurent with a raised eyebrow, the contact in place of the actual question. Laurent winces as he does that, but the sound he makes indicates it's not the unpleasant kind. "Yes", he says quietly. 

A globule of spit lands precisely where Nikandros aims, and Laurent sucks in a breath at the sensation. After securing his grip pinning Laurent's knees onto the firm mattress, Nikandros swings his hips forward with the full weight of his lower torso. Laurent makes a loud, throaty sound with his mouth closed. His whole length has disappeared into him, a wet clapping sound sealing it in. Laurent's upward gaze flickers quickly between Nikandros' eyes and mouth a few times. When Nikandros draws back fully, Laurent's lips part silently, like he's going to say something but doesn't have the good word. Nikandros plunges in deep again, and Laurent finds back his voice as he cries out. 

This time Nikandros doesn't waste any time before he does it again; he begins fucking Laurent in earnest. After a while, Laurent is hissing and moaning alternately, whimpering when Nikandros keeps squeezing in further when he's already at his deepest. Laurent's face, neck and chest are flushed like a ripe peach. Nikandros knows without seeing that the inner sides of his pale thighs must be sprinkled with tiny red specks under his skin now. For an instant he is wary that Damen might see them tomorrow, deepened after a night. Laurent is usually more cautious with markings in the days leading up to a meeting with Damen. Usually, Laurent won't even call for Nikandros when it's only days before he can have Damen. 

"Nikandros," says Laurent, his voice a bit hoarse so the consonants sound somewhat blurred. His face is a glorious mess, blotchy and damp with sweat and tears. Nikandros would ridicule him right there, if he's not so turned on by it. He wishes he can reach to pick up that blindfold discarded on the corner of the bed, but what he's caught up in is unstoppable. Laurent says his name again, sounding like laughing with his breathy, lifted voice. It makes Nikandros' skin crawl, reminding him of everything that's wrong about this. "Shut up," he says and pulls all the way out, stepping back. In an awkward, disoriented moment, he stands there and can do nothing other than panting futilely. 

Before he can turn away or lapses into immobility, Laurent has crawled near the edge of the bed and taken his cock into his warm mouth. He rubs the head several times against the softest part of the roof of his mouth, closing his wet, bright rose color lips around the girth. When Nikandros doesn't resist, he begins sucking. Nikandros watches the golden head bobbing up and down, a sleek central line stretching out from his nape to the tailbone, the shimmer on his skin shifting with his movement. Laurent grabs Nikandros' hand and puts it on the back of his own head, pressing it firmly before he leaves it there. Laurent's mouth might be stuffed full with Nikandros' cock, but he doesn't fail to make himself clear: this is a command. That's why Nikandros hates princes. 

He seizes a handful of Laurent's hair and not exactly pulls it, just testing his grip. Laurent hums approvingly, so Nikandros starts to press him in, let go, then press again, harder. Whenever he notices himself tending to rush, he pushes deep and holds Laurent in for a few seconds, feeling his throat throb around his cock head. Once Laurent suppresses the physiological rejection, he sobs pleasurably. This goes on until Nikandros realizes that Laurent is shaking all over and half-sqealing, hinging much of his weight on Nikandros' both hands cupping his head now, because he's stroking himself with one hand. Nikandros swears and pulls out, a viscous strand of clear liquid drawing after it. He's not sure if Laurent has come yet, but he sure will if he doesn't force a break now.

"Turn around," he says, and Laurent does, reversing the direction he's facing while remaining on all fours. A cacophony of their heavy breathing fills the air, both bodies demanding proper release. The mattress dips in the places where Nikandros fits himself flush above Laurent. Over his shoulder, Laurent looks back at him. An irritated feeling simmers in Nikandros' stomach, but he knows it's too late now. He slides back into Laurent's slick, open hole. Laurent makes a mewling noise, but before he turns his head away, his face is still saying, "See, I always win."

"I'd love to take a cold bath," Laurent says, blowing a puff of smoke from his mouth. "but my legs are useless now." He is lying on his stomach in a boyish posture, his feet swaying in the air. Nikandros looks at the layers of hand-shaped red marks on Laurent's buttocks and wonders if that's the reason he's not sitting. He doesn't feel guilty though; Laurent kept asking for more. 

Someone is knocking on the door. 

"Is it the King? Has he arrived?" Laurent calls out as if on cue, turning his head to stare out towards the balcony. Nikandros starts and instinctively reaches to grab Laurent's arm tightly. Placidly, Laurent turns back to watch his face as they hear the servant replies, "...No, exalted. The King arrives tomorrow. I am here to ask if you would like supper served in the rooms if your discussion is finished. "

He sends the servant away. Lowering his head, his shoulders begin shaking so violently the smoking pipe he holds is threatening to fall off the edge of the bed.

"You believed it," says Laurent, laughing like the obnoxious spare prince he is. 

"Fuck you," says Nikandros as he snatches the pipe from Laurent's hand. He takes a drag, then breathes out white fume in one long, loud exhalation.

"Even if he found out, he wouldn't kill you. He cares too much about you." Laurent says matter-of-factly. This way of speaking annoys Nikandros, like even as he says this he's still flaunting his knowledge of Damen like a ring on his finger.

"And you? What would he do to you?" Nikandros slips and immediately regrets it.

"You know how he is with me," Laurent says, feigning patience. The question is too stupid to warrant an answer, and Nikandros knows it.

Nikandros continues to smoke wordlessly. The strong, slightly pungent herbal scent fills the space between them. Laurent's gaze on him is speculative, studying Nikandros' face behind the rising strands of smoke. 

"Hmm, so you do wish he'd find out," says Laurent, smiling slyly. 

"You mean like how you wish people would find out about him and you?" says Nikandros, harshly. What he doesn't utter he's sure is written all over his face.

"Ha, that's a good one," says Laurent, the smile fading from his eyes. He takes the pipe from Nikandros and rolls onto his back, his movement extra careful and slow.

Nikandros believes there is a dangerous appeal in confessing one's secrets, the momentary freedom from the burden of lies lethally tempting for most people, even if it can come with horrible consequences. For him and Laurent, it's the consequence that they're after. Laurent is dying for the world to know that Damen has always belonged to him, whole heart and body; Nikandros yearns for a simple truth. When everything comes to light, whether his punishment will be worth twenty years of friendship. Kinship. Whatever Damen chooses to call it. 

"I do like you, Nikandros," Laurent says, then pauses like he's waiting for Nikandros' response. When Nikandros doesn't indulge him, he continues regardless, "I like that you don't like me. You fuck me like you don't owe my anything."

"Is now the time to exchange technical remarks? Because I do have a few things to say," Nikandros says dryly, rolling one of his shoulders.

Laurent chuckles around the mouthpiece, his teeth clanking on the gold plating, looking white and perfect. 

"Speaking of time, we still have an hour before supper," says Laurent, vanishing briefly to put the pipe away. He comes back and straddles on Nikandro's lap deftly, like mounting a horse.

"You can't be serious," Nikandros says but doesn't stop him.

"Last time I checked, you liked it," Laurent says as he puts both hands on Nikandros' shoulders and starts nudging with his hips lazily.

"Shut up, princeling." says Nikandros. It's been a while since he last called him that. 

"Watch you tongue."

"Shut up, your highness."

"That's better."

The sky is a lilac color outside the balcony, the sun a burning orange ball of flame as it goes down almost imperceptibly. This is all a mistake. Nikandros acknowledges that, and goes on to make it again.

**Author's Note:**

> I LIKE NIKANDROS
> 
> tumblr: @akielonsummer


End file.
